The Night Is Dark and Full of Terrors
by Min Daae
Summary: Melisandre/Stannis. In which it is a dream, and then not, and everything may or may not be real. Stannis, at any rate, doesn't quite know what to do with himself.


"Confess to me," she had said, in her silk and velvet voice, and he had been forced to lower his eyes.

"I have – had unseemly thoughts. In dreams. For my husband's wife." She leaned toward him, very slightly. Perhaps it was only illusion, but it seemed the heat of her body was more than it should have been.

"What sort of unseemly thoughts?"

"Adulterous thoughts," Stannis said, looking away. "Sinful thoughts."

"Confess to me," she said, and laid three fingers under his chin, lifting his eyes to hers. "And look me in the eye."

He never slept a restful night after that, but he dreamed of her. He dreamed of kneeling in chains at her feet. He dreamed that he was dancing with her and only realized too late that he was leaving a trail of blood behind. But mostly he dreamed her rising naked from the fire, an unearthly goddess, stretching out her arms to him. His wife never understood why he had begun making love to her with such desperation, where for years he had hardly seemed interested at all.

Stannis was never alone, now. Waking, asleep, the Red Lady was always with him. He stood in the deepest, darkest night he had ever known, but the fire lit his face, feeling as though it would scorch his skin away. It was from that blaze she rose, the flames seeming to flicker as though seen through her skin rather than before it. As though the thin layer of her skin was only barely containing the conflagration within.

She reached out and drew him to her body, and he could feel his manhood stir as she began to dance. He could feel every quiver of her flesh, hardly dared to lay his hands on her skin – but it did not burn.

"What am I," he asked, and she laughed.

"A man, with a man's desires," she murmured in her sultry voice, and the shiver ran through his entire body.

He opened his eyes.

"A man, with a man's desires," Melisandre murmured, and for a moment he felt a jolt of pure and unadulterated fear – she knew, she had seen his perverted dreams – but then she smiled. "And we shall have them. Your brother will surrender his claim tonight, my lord. I have seen it."

"In the flames?" Stannis didn't like following things like visions and prophecies. It didn't feel right to him. And yes, Melisandre had been right before, and her god had protected her from death once already… "Renly will never give up. I know him. Once he has hold of something, especially when it is not his, he never lets go of it – be it a crown or a toy."

"I have seen it." She came toward him, and smiled. "Do you doubt me, your grace?"

"Of course not," he said, stiffly. One of her red-nailed hands cupped his face, the other resting on his shoulder. "I only know my brother-"

"Think of him not so," Melisandre purred. "He is only a rival. An obstacle in your rightful path, that you must take." She leaned against him, and Stannis forced himself to keep his arms stiffly at his sides. "Trust me."

He swallowed, hard. "I – trust you, my lady."

"Then say it now," she whispered, her face upturned to his, expression of rapture that of a woman to her lover. "Say it for me."

"Protect me, Rh'lorr," Stannis said, "For the night is dark and full of terrors…"

~.~

He kissed her.

She twined her arms around his neck, winding around him closer than a sea snake. "The night is dark and full of terrors," she said, as silky soft as smoke, and he kissed her again. Her lips were warm, her body was warm; he wondered what it would be to sheath himself in her, and he desired.

She rubbed against his leg like a cat, eyes still upturned and smouldering like coals. Her long fingers eased his coat off over his shoulders, and the ruby gleaming at her throat was the only thing she wore other than skin.

"May Rh'llor protect you," she kissed his jaw, "For the night is dark," she kissed his shoulder, "And full of terrors." She kissed his neck and he slid his arms around her waist and curved his fingers into her flesh.

He heard her hiss. "A man must fear nothing," she said. "A man must not be afraid to take a bold step, to seize his destiny. Do you fear, your grace? Do you fear your younger brother, the usurper of your god-given right?"

"I do not fear him," Stannis said, defiantly, fiercely. "I do not fear him. Renly is not righteous – he is not determined, he is not strong. Sooner or later, he will fall to me, and kneel to me."

She stroked his jaw. "And if he does not kneel? What shall you dare then, my love? What bold steps would you take in order to secure your rightful place?" Stannis said nothing, because he did not dare to, and she pulled his head down and kissed him again.

"Melisandre," he breathed on her mouth, and her red lips curved into a smile as she let him go. She trailed a finger down his chest and circled around him, sat on a great wooden table and spread her legs apart. His eyes fixed on the curling, red, coarse hair and moist flesh between them as she leaned back on her hands, red eyes watching him. The flames at his back cracked like the snap of fingers.

He trembled, and when she crooked a finger beckoning him, he did not resist. He fumbled awkwardly at his breeches as her hand moved down, stroking herself. Stannis felt his mouth spasm. "Melisandre," he said, again, "My lady – we musn't-"

Her hands grasped his upper arms and she pulled him forward between her thighs, and he was sure there was no imagination in the heat of her touch. "Why not?" she murmured, mouth just over his ear, "Because it is sin? What is sin but fear? And haven't I told you not to be afraid?"

Stannis moaned and grasped her buttocks, pulling her to the edge of the table and thrusting into her, still fighting free of his breeches, mad with want for her. She threw her head back in ecstasy.

"More," she demanded, her nails digging into his shoulders, and Stannis panted and gripping her hips, thrust again. Her nails dug in harder. "More," she gasped again. Desire was nearing agony in his loins, and it was with a groan that he moved this time, pulling her hips forward at the same time. She hissed, her heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, and he took one of her full breasts in hand and squeezed it, finding his rhythm, settling into motion.

Her body felt like a woman's, but under his arms, his hands, her skin seemed to be growing hotter. Stannis didn't want to move away, though, and embraced her more tightly, as though he and the Red Queen could simply meld and fuse into one body, and with her clutching nails, she seemed to be trying for the same thing.

"You're burning," he managed to say, and she only smiled and squeezed around him.

Like something had been let go, he came powerfully, jerking against her with left-over momentum and the continued desire even of his dying erection. Her flexing around him seemed to milk every last drop from his manhood, and her sigh of pleasure made his knees feel weak. Melisandre released him.

He sank to his knees, rubbery exhaustion taking over, as though he had truly bedded her. She looked down at him, smiling, legs still spread wide and center slick with moisture, her belly big with child.

"You have done well, my lord," she whispered, and out of the darkness, hands seemed to cloak her in shadows. He noticed, though the dream was dissolving fast, that for all the fire's light enveloped him, his body seemed to cast no shadow.

He slept.

~.~

Stannis Baratheon opened his eyes. "My lord," Davos was saying, sounding anxious, "My lord, your lord brother is dead. What is to be done?"

"Dead?" He felt dazed, thick-headed and slow. Exhausted, as though he had not slept all the night. "—give me a moment, Ser. Send me the Lady Melisandre." It was only his imagination, but Davos seemed to pause, for just a moment, before bowing.

"Very well, your grace."

Melisandre arrived only a few moments later, clad in her usual red dress, and he flushed only looking at her. She smiled. "You have called me for a reason, your grace?"

Renly was dead, and there was no one to bar his path to the throne but the monster born of incest sitting on it now. How had his brother died? That should have been shocking, but he felt nothing for it. His brother had been a traitor, and so his brother had perished. That was Rh'llor's will. _I wished it. Does that make me a kinslayer?_

"I must-" He swallowed. "I must confess. I fear that I may have done great evil."

"Great men may never do great evil," she purred, her eyes as smoky as they had been, and he shivered as she cupped his chin and smiled. "But all the same. Confess to me."


End file.
